


Just Ride

by celticwanderer



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celticwanderer/pseuds/celticwanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecile Radley is a young, talented painter who is trying to make a name for herself in the art world, after leaving home. She's enjoying her new found freedom, until she meets him. Tig Trager. She finds herself lost in his blue eyes, and drowns in a world of motorcycles, guns, and possibly the greatest love she'll ever know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. I just finished watching the entire Sons series, and I must say, I'm in love with the character, Tig. In my search for good fics, I was sad to see there weren't many tig/oc stories, so I though, why not write one! I hope you readers enjoy it! Talk to me on tumblr!  
> tumblr.com/celticwanderer

stared at her reflection in the large mirror in front of her. The uncovered bulbs surrounding the mirror illuminated her big green eyes. Her chestnut hair was parted in the middle, and hung down to her shoulder blades in loose waves with natural highlights from being out in the sun. She wore minimal make up. Bronze and chocolate brown eye shadow, which made her eyes look even greener. A light dusting of freckles swept across her nose, making her look younger than her 22 years. She felt confident in her new black lacy dress. The strapless bodice hugged her breasts and waist, showing off her hourglass figure. The bottom stopped just before the knees. It was tasteful and elegant, but not enough to hide her free spirit. She looked at herself confidently. She could not deny that she inherited her mother’s good looks.

Suddenly, unwanted memories of her mother, Darla, flooded her mind like a storm. She was everything Cecile wanted to be. Smart, beautiful, kind hearted, adventurous. She only wished that she hadn’t died so young. She was a good woman, who married when she was too inexperienced and naive to understand Cecile’s father’s “intense love,” was actually controlling and abusive. After one of their explosive fights, Darla left the house to go for a long drive. They always calmed her down, cleared her mind, only this time she didn’t come back. It wasn’t unusual for her to leave and not come back until the next day, so her father didn’t call the police. 

It wasn’t until the next day, when her father was driving Cecile to school that they passed Darla’s red Toyota in a ditch. The front of the car was smashed in. Cecile didn’t remember much from that moment, it was all too surreal. The only thing she remembered were the sirens in the background, her father falling to the ground yelling, and a family of possums, scurrying away from the noise. As she watched them slowly cross the street, she realized her mother must have swerved out of the way of the small marsupials. Her mother always taught her animals, cute or ugly, deserve the same treatment as humans. She told her humans are the only living things on Earth that do things out of spite and revenge. In her mind, people were lesser than animals. It was a fitting death.

The accident occurred six years ago, when Cecile was 16, the age when one needs their mother most. In Cecile’s recent experiences, her father’s abuse aided in her agreeing with her mother’s beliefs. Her father was overly kind to her after Darla’s death. But the anger inside him refused to die. It slowly came out. Drinking excessively turned to screaming matches, which turned to hitting. 

He stumbled home one night, the stench of Jameson hot on his breath. Cecile was in the kitchen doing homework, and he walked in, slamming his hands down on the table. 

“You look so much like your bitch mother,” he slurred.

She chose to ignore it, as she usually did. There was no talking sense into him when he was this drunk. All she could do was let him scream and punch the walls until he passed out.

“Look at me," he said.

Cecile didn’t look up. She kept writing in her notebook, though her hands started shaking.

“I said look at me!” he yelled, banging his hand against the table again. 

Cecile gasped and dropped her pen.

Her father slowly walked around the table, gripping his hands around the tops of the wooden chairs for balance. He stopped when he was standing over her. She looked up at him, trying not to show fear, but inside, she was terrified. His breathing was heavy, the scent of whiskey stung her nostrils. He moved his drunken gaze to her hair and started fingering a loose tendril.

“Why do you wear it like that?” he asked.

“I--” She closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear. “I don’t know, I---”

“Why!” he yelled, grabbing a fistful of her thick brown waves.

“Dad, stop!” she cried.

He pulled her out of the chair by her hair, and she let out a yelp. “I don’t want you wearin’ it like this again. You understand?” he yelled.

Cecile nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes--I understand.”

“I hate that you look like her.” His eyes welled with tears.

Her heart started to fill with pity, but then he spit on her and threw her to the ground. She quickly put her hands out in front of her, catching herself before her face hit the floor. She used to ask herself how he could treat her this way. How he could be so hateful. But she didn’t anymore, for the answer never came. It was just something she accepted. She no longer cried herself to sleep. Instead she locked the door and slept with the gun she bought from a co-worker on her night stand.

The only reason she stayed as long as she did was because living rent free as a student was a necessity if she wanted to save enough to move out. She was two weeks away from graduating with a bachelors degree in fine arts, and planned to leave as soon as she threw her graduation cap in the air. She had no ties to this small town. No close friends, no boyfriend. She was alone most of the time, which is how she preferred it. The tragedies she lived through made it difficult for her to indulge in the meaningless activities her fellow students succumbed to. That was why she painted. It was how she spoke when there was no one around to listen.

 

Her father stood over her, looking at what he'd done. He ran his hands through his hair and started pacing back and forth. It was unnerving. Cecile didn’t move. She knew he was looking for something else to take out his anger on and she didn’t want it to be her.

“Stop looking at me!” he yelled.

Cecile realized he was screaming at the painting she made of her mother hanging above the couch. He violently tore it from the wall and grabbed his pocket knife from his jeans. 

“Dad, no!” Cecile yelled, but it was too late.

He stabbed it over and over until the shredded canvas surrounded him. A deafening silence filled the air for a few moments until Cecile couldn’t hold in her sobs. 

“Clean this up,” her father spat.

He stepped over her crying body and went to the cabinet below the sink where he kept his liquor. He grabbed a bottle of Woodford Reserve, no glass, and went to his small bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Cecile slowly lifted herself from the cold kitchen floor and crawled to the living room. She groaned with each move, as she fell hard on her hip and knew it was going to bruise. When she reached the messy grave of her painting, one piece caught her attention. It was one of her mother’s green eyes. She traced her finger around the painted pupil before putting the piece in her pocket. She threw the rest in the trash.

After she finished her homework, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She stripped naked and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair covered her pink nipples, and her body curved out at her hips giving her an hour glass figure. She would’ve thought herself beautiful if not for the already purpling skin above her right hip. She stared at herself until the steam enveloped the mirror.

 

She didn’t want to live with the guilt of leaving her father alone, but she couldn’t spend the rest of her life miserable just because she was afraid. She wanted to know what it was like to fall asleep with out her ‘22 on her night stand. She had to do what her mother couldn’t. So, after her graduation, which he didn’t show up to, she left. A twenty two year old girl, with nothing but her suitcase, and the long road in front of her.

The first few nights on the road were terrifying. She almost turned around three times, but she kept the painting of her mother’s eye hanging from her rearview mirror for guidance. Whenever she was unsure or scared, which was often, she looked at it, pretending her mother was there to give her the answers she so desperately needed. After getting used to staying in shitty motels by herself, she started exploring the towns she stopped in and was able to book a few gallery showings. She was able to sell enough work to keep continuing her journey, enjoying the feeling of pure freedom for the first time in her life. She didn’t have a certain destination yet. All she knew was that she wanted to get as far away from her father and the shitty town of Moulton, Iowa as possible. West seemed like a good place to start.

Now, as she stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the Jumpcut Gallery in Portland, Oregon, she wished she had her mother more than ever. Buyers, journalists, and agents notoriously scouted here for new talent. This could be her chance to make a name for herself in the art world and be able to make a living doing what she loved. She took a final breath, pushing all thoughts of her mother out of her mind. She opened her eyes and smiled at herself.

“You can do this," she breathed, hoping no one heard her even though she was alone.

Cecile emerged from the ladies room and everything seemed to move in slow motion. She walked through the sea of elites and artists dressed to the nines, sipping red wine and brut out of tall, slender glasses. The all black attire and starkness of the white walls and marble floor made her colorful art pop. She took a moment to take it all in. The people were pointing at her work, smiling, thinking, discussing. It was magical.

As a young couple walked away from her favorite painting, she stopped in front of it and took a sip of her Cabernet. A muse came to her one night after she left home and inspired her to paint this. She had never painted a landscape before, but she listened to the muse’s song and was very pleased with her work.

She looked at the blue mountain ridge towards the top of the canvas. The simplicity of the telephone poles on either side of the road stood tall, the wires connecting people in the middle of nowhere, and the rough gray asphalt of the long road, which was the center of the piece. She did not paint any cars or bikes on it. The painting was meant for people to pretend they were the ones traveling alone, in search of whatever it was they were looking for. If there was one thing she knew about people, it was that no matter what they had, they would never stop wanting. There would always be more to have, more to see, and she hoped this painting gave people the courage to find it, even if they were too afraid to make the journey. 

“This is excellent work, Miss Radley,” a kind, smooth voice said.

Cecile turned and through the thick rimmed spectacles, met the eyes of Ida Seymour, the owner and art director of the Jumpcut Gallery. She smiled and shook her hand.

“Thank you, Mrs. Seymour. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” Her blonde bob moved with every word she said. “Thank me after you sell one of your masterpieces.”

“You don’t think the prices are too high?” Cecile asked nervously. She had never thought to sell her paintings for the amount Ida recommended, but trusted her judgement call.

“Oh darling, if you ask me, you’re not selling them for nearly as much as you should be.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at “The Road” painting. “I’ve had plenty of people just as talented as you try to show their work here, but it’s been years since I’ve seen someone put the emotion they want into their art.” She turned to Cecile and smiled. “You should be very proud.”

“Thank you for believing in me, Mrs. Seymour,” Cecile said sincerely. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since someone was truly kind to me.”

Ida smiled. “We’re having an auction this Friday. Selected artists that have shown their work here have been invited to potentially sell one piece of their choice to very high end buyers. I’d like for you to come.”

Cecile’s eyes widened. This was huge! This could give her the finances she needed to settle down somewhere. She loved driving and being free, but she had to admit she was getting tired of motel rooms. She needed her own space, somewhere that felt like her. Like home. This could be enough for a down payment on a nice apartment. She nodded and could not control the smile that grew on her face. “Yes, yes, I would love to come. Thank you, Mrs. Seymour.” Cecile wrapped her arms around the old Jewish woman. She was not an affectionate girl, that’s how she was raised, but Mrs. Seymour had given her a chance, and the least she could do was hug her. 

Mrs. Seymour stiffened under her embrace. Clearly she was not used to this and awkwardly patted Cecile on the back. “Alright now, darling, lets drink.”

The rest of the night went smoothly. Cecile sold three paintings and set up two meetings with agents. When everyone left, she took off her heels and helped Robbie, one of Mrs. Seymour's assistants, load her unsold paintings into the back of her beat up Honda. 

She went back inside and Mrs. Seymour handed her a check for $6,000.

“I already took my percentage out.” Mrs. Seymour smiled.

Cecile’s eyes widened at the amount she was holding in her hands. “I---”

“What’s that, dear?” 

Cecile looked up at the old woman. “You were right.”

“Of course I was!” She dramatically flailed her arms in the air and snapped her fingers. “Robbie, please get the Dom from my office,” she ordered. “I save the good stuff for my protégées.” She winked.

After two glasses of Dom Perignon, and a sobering conversation, Cecile said her good-byes and left the gallery. She was only slightly buzzed as she drove down the long, dark stretch of road. The cheapest motel she could find was a 45 minute drive from the gallery, but since she was staying in Portland for a few more days, she decided tomorrow she’d treat herself to a nice hotel room, maybe even a suite, and order whatever she wanted from room service. She smiled at the thought of lounging around in a white fluffy bathrobe.

A loud popping noise tore her from her thoughts. “Oh no, no no.” Her car was about 10 years old, and she hadn’t been able to take care of it properly. Hondas weren’t expensive to maintain, but she put it off far too long. “Shit...” She pulled over to the side of the road. She opened the door, but reached into the glove box and grabbed her gun before stepping out of the car. She was in the middle of nowhere and felt safer with it.

She bent down and saw the cause of the noise. Her back left tire was flat. “Ughhh,” she groaned. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a father who taught her how to handle herself in scenarios like these. 

She popped the trunk, and luckily did have a spare tire and a jack. She bought this car from her neighbor and never bothered cleaning out the tools he left in the trunk in case of an emergency. She lowered herself onto the car and Googled how to change a flat. After a few long seconds of loading, the page told her she had no service. With a moan, she tossed her phone in the trunk.

The distant hum of a motorcycle grew louder in the distance. When she saw the headlight appear she became nervous. She had heard horror stories of bikers raping and killing women. She gripped the ‘22, her finger ready on the trigger.

She squinted as the headlight briefly rushed over her face. Just as she feared, the man on the bike pulled over in front of the Honda. When he turned off his engine, the silence was almost deafening. The man swung his leg over the bike and stood. A mass of dark brown curls emerged as he took off his helmet and hung it on one of the handle bars. He was tall, over 6 feet, and intimidating. Cecile stood, clutching the gun at her side.

“You can put the gun down, darling. I’m not gonna hurt you,” the man spoke. His voice was deep and sent shivers down Cecile’s spine. He sensed she was nervous and kept his distance. “Do you need help?” he asked.

“N--no.” Cecile shivered. She hadn’t brought a jacket with her, and the Portland night was a cold one. 

He bent over, eyeing the flat tire and jack on the ground beside it. “I doubt you want to ruin that pretty dress by changing a tire.” He smiled.

As he stepped closer, Cecile saw the brilliant blue of his eyes glow in the headlights. She had never seen eyes that color. They were mesmerizing. “Do you have a spare tire?” he asked with a careful tone.

Cecile weighed her odds. She didn’t know how to change a tire, and didn’t want to have to walk miles in the cold until she had phone service. She figured this guy was her best bet, and if he tried anything, she had her gun, and she would use it. She backed away from the trunk. “Yes.” She nodded. “In there.”

He looked her up and down. “You’re not gonna shoot me when I turn my back, are you?” he joked.

Cecile let out a smile. “No."

The man smiled and stuck out his hand. It was covered in clunky silver rings with writing she couldn’t make out. “I’m Tig.”

She hesitated before putting her small hand in his large one. “Cecile.” She smiled. When they let go, she folded her arms, trying to keep herself warm.

“Why don’t you go sit in the car where it’s warm,” he offered, lifting the heavy tire out of the trunk and dropping it onto the ground. It bounced with excitement before falling over on its side.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to watch.” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear nervously. “If you don’t mind.”

He took off his leather jacket and held it out for her. “Put this on then. I can’t work with you shakin’ like a leaf.”

She looked into his bright blue depths, trying to decide whether or not she could trust him. She slowly reached up and took the jacket. When he let go, she realized how heavy it was. She draped it over her shoulders and the aroma of smoke and earth surrounded her. It was pleasant, and reminded her of the road. “Thanks,” she muttered.

She leaned against the car and watched him get to work, watching him carefully, trying to memorize everything he was doing.

“Do all men know how to change tires?” she laughed.

Tig smiled. “Well, I’m a mechanic, so I should know how.”

“Oh.” Cecile brought the collar of his jacket closer to her neck, the smell surrounding her again. “Where do you work?” 

“Charming,” he said as he loosened the lug nuts, placing them carefully on the ground beside him. 

“Never heard of it.”

“Where are you from?”

The memories of home brought back unwanted memories of what she was trying to run from. “Iowa,” she started. “You wouldn’t know the town.” 

She stood straight as he used the jack to raise the Honda. “And what are you doin’ so far from home?”

Cecile looked up at the sky. The stars shone brightly. “Getting a taste of freedom I guess,” she said more to herself than the mysterious man.

“Feels pretty good, huh?” 

“Yeah...” Her voice was soft. “I bet you feel that way all the time on that.” She nodded at his bike.

“That is not just a that.” He looked up at her. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought as he looked at the girl, standing under the stars, wearing his leather jacket. “That’s my baby.”

Cecile chuckled. “May I?”

“Sure, but knock it over and you might have to use that gun after all,” he teased.

She knew he was joking around, but she still kept her grip on the gun tight. She walked over to the black Harley. She had never been this close to a motorcycle before. It was sleek and yet powerful. She trailed her fingers gently along the handle bars. They were worn from constantly being held. She stood for a few moments, wondering what it must be like to ride one. How freeing it must feel.

“Alright darlin’” Tig called. Cecile looked at him. He stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Good as new.” His gaze went to the backseat of her car, and saw the stack of canvases. “What are those?”

“My art,” she said self-consciously. Even though she just had a successful art showing, she still felt uncomfortable with people looking at or complimenting her work.

“Can I see?” he asked.

Cecile looked down and laughed nervously. “Why?”

“I let you look at my baby. It’s only fair.”

She bit her lip and opened the car door. “Alirght.” She watched as he carefully took out each painting, one by one. Watching this scary looking biker take his time studying her art was one of the oddest things she had ever seen. She continued standing silently, watching his ringed fingers trailing her brush strokes, until he had looked at each one.

“You painted all of these?” he asked.

Cecile nodded. “I did.”

He said nothing more. He carefully put them back in the backseat and shut the door. She walked over to him. He towered over her. “I don’t have any cash on me, but if you give me your address, er, I mean the address of the place you work, I’ll make sure you get it.”

“Don’t worry about it. First time customers get perks.” He smiled.

He opened the front door of the old Honda for her. “Oh...” She remembered she had his jacket. She took it off, the cool night breeze instantly hitting her skin, and handed it back to him. His fingers brushed against hers for a brief moment before he slipped his arms through the sleeves.

It was strange how having just met this man, who at first she feared, she was sad to say goodbye. “It was nice to met you, Tig, and thank you again.” 

“Don’t mention it.” She sat in the driver's seat, and he shut the door for her. She watched as he donned his helmet and swung his leg over the Harley, straddling it as he turned on the engine. He looked back at her one last time, and with a loud “vroom,” he was off. Cecile watched him ride off into the distance, going as fast as he came, until she couldn’t see the light anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Cecile stuffed her keys back into her purse and shut the door behind her. She kicked off her heels and let out a small sigh as she stretched her toes. She sat down on the edge of the queen bed covered in a green floral print. Having stayed in so many motels recently, she learned it was custom to have some sort of 70’s color scheme, with pictures of beaches, or Hawaiian dancers, even though she was far from any beach. She exhaled a smooth breath. It had been a long and stressful day. She had woken up, unsure and terrified. Now she was going to sleep 6,000 dollars richer, and the promise of another opportunity to show her work, and make a living doing what she loved. 

“Friday...” She whispered to herself. Friday could either be the worst or best day of her life. She hoped for the latter. She reached into her purse and pulled out the check from Mrs. Seymour. “6,000 dollars.” She breathed. Laughter began to fill to room and she kicked her feet like a little girl would when presented with a new toy. She checked her phone, wanting to call the one person she missed back home. Izzy. She was a year older than her, and they worked together at a diner off the highway during the summer, but the clock read 1:30 am, back home it would be 3:30am. She sighed, and decided she would call her first thing in the morning. She tucked her phone, and the check back in the safety of her purse, and bent over, reaching for the mini fridge.

She had been staring at the treats the night before. Longing for one of the sugary snacks, illuminated by the florescent light of the fridge. She didn’t give into temptation, for she new she wouldn’t be able to afford anything, but nothing was stopping her tonight, so she grabbed a super size kit-kat, and a perrier.

She set her unsubstantial dinner on the bed, and unzipped her dress. Luckily, the zipper was on the side, so she didn’t need any extra hands to get it off. It fell to the floor, and she pulled a big grey t-shirt over her head. Much more comfortable. She hung the dress up in the closet, and plopped down on the bed. She grabbed the book she left on the night stand, and ate the kit-kat while she read, enjoying the first relaxing moment she had in a long time. When the words became blurry, she closed the book, and crawled under the covers, briefly thinking of the man on the motorcycle as she drifted off to sleep. Her gun resting on the night stand beside her.

***

Tig made his way back to Bubba and Son’s Automotive Shop. The clubhouse for the Portland charter. It was where he and the rest of SAMCRO were staying while they finished their business in Portland. Things had gotten pretty heated before he left on a liquor run, as per requested by Clay Morrow, the president of the club. They had been at the table, debating on how to handle the current situation they were in. Clay had gotten them into some deep shit. Even though Tig was the president’s right hand, he couldn’t deny it. 

Akbar Bazzi, owner of Boline Gas Company, enlisted the Son’s help and protection. He had billions, but was a man, who’s lust for money was never satisfied. That lust led to making enemies, and now, his gas trucks were being ran off the road, his drivers killed, and his gas stolen. It was only happening along the Western Coat of the United States, so he knew it had to be one of three competitors. 

The Vanhorns’s. They were old money. Welcoming, and full of class, but if you stabbed them in the back, they would stab you just as hard, slit your throat, and bash your head in. 

The Cho’s. They were the newest company, started off as a small ma’ and pop, station in Northern California, and now, in just five years, they had seventeen stations along the coast. They were growing like mold on bread, and everyone knew, you don’t become that successful that fast with out stepping on the toes of giants. 

And lastly, the Marcelli’s. A New Jersey based company. Though their stations were popular along the East Coast, they were rapidly moving through middle America, and would soon be claiming stake in California, Oregon, and Washington. They had ties with the mob, and weren’t afraid to shove their way to the top. 

So, Akbar flew to America, to figure out who was stealing his gas. While he met with the other tycoons, he asked Clay and the Son’s help in escorting his trucks from station to station, and running the other tycoon’s trucks off the road as a message. He was determined to find and finish who ever was jeopardizing his business and told Clay to name any price. 

Clay’s hands were getting worse, and would be forced to leave the club soon. Tig knew he wanted to make as much cash as he could so that he and his wife Gemma could live comfortably for the rest of their lives. He couldn’t say he blamed him, but the club had never dealt with a guy this powerful before, and after a close vote, the club favored in taking the job. Jax, Chibs, Bobby, and Juice were the only ones who voted against it. 

Everything had been running smoothly so far, with the Son’s safely escorting Akbar’s trucks from station to station with out incident, and running the other trucks off the road, but  
Akbar was no closer to finding who was trying to sabotage him, so he asked Clay for more. He had delivered the money as promised and Clay saw no harm in accepting his next offer. 

He told him, Kyung-gu Cho was the weakest link of the three and would be the easiest to break, so he wanted to Son’s to kidnap his wife. It being summer, Cho and his family were staying in their summer cabin in Oregon, which is why SAMCRO was out here. They needed to convince the Portland charter to work with them. This was their turf, so they needed their permission, but also their help. Cho might be a new comer, but he made friends with some big boys, and the more men Clay had by his side, the better. 

What started in a calm conversation ended in a screaming match, and that’s when Clay asked Tig to get some more booze. It was going to be a long night, and they were going to need it. 

It had been raining all damn day. It never seemed to stop in Oregon, so Tig put his leather jacket over his kutte, and headed out to the nearest liquor store he could find. The Portland clubhouse was in the middle of no where, so he had to drive out of the way, but he didn’t mind, He revved his Harley, and speed down the open road. They had been at the damn table for so long, he needed this. Though he hated the rain, he loved the smell of the Earth when it stopped. After buying three bottles of whiskey, four bottles of vodka, and two bottle of bourbon, he felt that would last them at least one night, so he paid and strapped the bag of goods to the back of his bike. 

It was when he was driving back to the clubhouse, he saw the girl on the side of the road. He wasn’t going to stop. Frankly, he could care less about some stranded broad, and was thirsty as hell, but after he saw her standing there like a deer in the headlights, he could see she was a good looking girl, and thought maybe he’d have a shot at a quickie. 

He almost laughed when he saw her standing by the trunk with a ‘22 in her hand. He could tell she never used it before, and assured her he wouldn’t hurt her. When he got closer, he could see how scared she really was. He wanted to hook up with her, but didn’t feel like taking a bullet in the gut. 

As he changed the tire, she didn’t shy away in the car like he thought she would. He gave her his jacket, it was mostly because he couldn’t move his body the way he needed to with the tight restraining sleeves, but subconsciously, he had never done that for a girl, and perhaps part of him wanted to. He tried to ease her mind by talking. He found unlike the crow eaters, this girl didn’t annoy the living shit out of him when she spoke. She talked about finding freedom, and he could relate. That was one of the reasons he joined the Son’s. It was obvious she was running from something, he didn’t bother asking. It was none of his business, and he didn’t have a whole lot of time to listen to what was probably a long story before Clay would start calling him asking where he was. When she asked to see his bike, he surprisingly said yes. He chanced a glance at her, and watched as she took in every curve and dip of his baby. It stirred something deep inside him, that he quickly shoved down, as he did everything else. 

He couldn’t help but notice the paintings in her car. He had always liked art. He had no creative talents, and was impressed by those who did. Thoughts of Clay impatiently waiting flew out of his mind, and he took the time looking at each piece. He could tell she was nervously watching him as he looked at her work. He made sure not to let anything show on his face. The girl was clearly talented, and her paintings evoked different feelings in him. As he put the last one in her back seat, she looked at him with big hopeful eyes that tried to pull up the feelings he shoved down. He asked if she painted all of them and she said yes. He said nothing more, she was probably constantly showered with compliments, and he wasn’t one to aid in anyone’s growing ego. 

Still, her big green eyes did something to him, and he told her the tire change was on the house. She looked as if she was going to faint or hug him. He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. 

He didn’t bother getting her number or giving his, This girl was going places, and didn’t need to get pulled down in the world he inhabited. Like she’d want to any way, he thought. 

As he drove away, he could smell her daisy scented perfume on the collar of his jacket. He drove faster, somehow hoping the wind would get it off, but when he returned to Bubba and Son’s Automotive Shop, he took one more sniff of his collar and there it lingered. 

He walked, the bags of liquor carefully cradled in his arms. His club, and the Portland charter were sitting on opposite sides of the room, and with out a word, he knew nothing had changed since he left. 

Chibs marched over to him and helped him unpack the bottles. “What took you so long?” He asked.

“It took me forever to find a liquor store.” He hissed.

Chibs looked through the first bag, then the second. “You didn’t get any beer?” He asked in a thick Scottish brogue. When Tig said nothing, Chibs rolled his eyes, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and went back over to the club. “Juicy boy, we need glasses.”

“You’re welcome, princess.” Tig called after him.

Juice went over to the little kitchen in the clubhouse, and tried to balance the shot glasses back to the guys. 

Clay’s hulking figure made its way over to Tig. “What happened?” 

Clay fingered one of the bottles of bourbon. The same chunky silver rings Tig wore covered his fingers as well. “We haven’t talked since you left. Tryin’ to keep the peace until we go back in there.” 

Tig nodded. “Okay.”

“We need them to give us the go ahead.” Clay started. His tone low and hushed. “This is going to make us all very rich men.”

Tig patted Clay on the shoulder. The leather of his kutte squeaking from the contact of Tig’s hand. “We’ll get it done, boss.”

After both sides of the room had enough to drink, the men headed back to the table. Clay sat at one end, and Les, the Portland president at the other. With the bang of the gavel, the debate was back in session.

Clay confidently leaned back in his chair and raised one hand up. “If I may continue...” Les hesitantly nodded. “Having already worked with Akbar, I can assure you, no harm will come to your or your men. He’s given me his word...”

“And you trust him?” Les interrupted.

“I do.” At the table back home, Clay would smacked anyone who had the audacity to talk over him, but he needed Les to give him the go ahead, so he kept his mouth shut. “We’ve been workin’ with him for a month now. He’s kept his word so far. Doin’ this wasn’t part of the original deal, but it’s more money and we won’t have to do it again. This is a one time thing.”

“If it wasn’t part of the original deal, why do you have to say yes?” Les asked. 

Clay leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. The bottom of the reaper tattoo of his right bicep peaking through his shirt. “Me and my boys have gained this man’s trust. If we keep doin’ what he asks, we can pull in a lot of favors when we need them. We’re high right now, but that never lasts for long, and soon, we’ll be needin’ favors.”

“We’re good with the Mayan’s. They can help us when we need it.”

“They can keep the problems away for a while, we might lose a few guys, but it’ll get taken care of. This guy can make the problems disappear with no deaths on our end.”

“I know why you’re unsure.” Jax started. Clay looked at him, trying to hide his nerves. “I was unsure too. If we fucked up, Akbar could destroy us, but’s not asking for much. Nothing we haven’t already done.”

Les’ eyes softened. Like a lot of the other members, he could see Jax had a better head on his shoulders than Clay. He took a breath, and looked at the other clubs members. “And all of you trust this man to keep his word?”

Tig nodded. “Yeah.”

“Aye.” Chibs added.

Bobby looked at Clay, then back at Les. “Yep.”

Les took their agreements into consideration. He narrowed his eyes at Clay. “If we do this, it’s a one time in and out thing? We’re not tied to these guys, and the Cho’s won’t come after us?”

“No one will know it’s the Sons. If the Cho’s come after anyone it’ll be Akbar. They’re playing a bigger game that don’t involve us.” Clay reassured.

Les sat back in his chair, and rubbed his forehead, making the creases all the more apparent. “We’re going to vote on this. All in favor of kidnapping Mrs. Cho, and seeing that no harm comes to her,” He narrowed his gaze at Clay, making sure he understood they would have no part in killing the billionaire's wife. “Yay.”

The Portland charter went around the table casting their votes, ending with four “yays,” and two “nays.”

“Don’t screw us over, Clay.” Les said before banging the gavel harder than necessary.

After another hour of drinking with crow eaters on their laps, Tig decided to call it a night. He usually had two girls on his lap and was one of the last ones to go to sleep, but he wasn’t feeling it tonight.

“See ya’ll in the mornin’” He called over his shoulder.

“Oh come on, Tiggy!” Chibs drunkenly yelled, but Tig didn’t budge. He kept down the hall, until he got to the room he was sharing with, Happy.

He carefully placed his kutte over the wooden chair in the corner, and took a breath. He felt as though his kutte represented a whole different life. When he put it on in the morning, it weighed heavily on his broad shoulders, and at night, when he took it off, it was as if he could breathe easier. He loved the club, and it’s president. Joining the Sons was the best thing he could’ve done, and he knew he would never leave his brothers, but sometimes, late at night, he felt an emptiness inside of him. An emptiness no amount of girls or booze could fill.

He unbuttoned his black shirt, and took off his pants, climbing into bed in nothing but his boxers. It had been a long day, and he thought sleep would come easy tonight, but as usual, he was haunted by all of his wrong doings. He tossed and turned for what felt like hours, until his thoughts took the shape of the pretty girl on the side of the road. His eyes shot open when an idea burst through him. A trick that always put him to sleep. 

Tig let his hand slide down his hairy stomach, underneath his boxers. His fingers traveled through the dark hair until they found his cock. He closed his eyes and started stroking himself, thinking of the young artist. Eyes as big as the moon. He imagined those eyes looking up at him as she took him in her mouth. She was so sweet, so innocent. The kind of girl that was impossible for a man to resist. He stroked faster, his mouth hanging open like a dog. “Cecile...” He breathed in a whisper that was barely audible. He imagined running his hands through her soft hair, and her doing the same to him as he pushed himself inside of her. He loved it when women grabbed his dark curly hair. He imagined biting her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. He could almost taste her daisy perfume on his lips. “Cecile...” He moaned again until he finished on his stomach. 

He laid breathless for a few long moments before cleaning himself up, and getting back into bed, wondering what this girl had done to him before finally drifting off to sleep. 

***

“Thank you.” Cecile smiled brightly up at the waiter, pouring her a fresh cup of coffee. She was enjoying a large breakfast of french toast, hash browns, eggs, and sausage. Her first proper meal in a long time. As soon as she woke up, she deposited the check in her bank. She checked her account of her phone, making sure it was real. She gently blew on the coffee, the steam floating away from her face, and took a sip, letting the drink warm her. She decided today she was going to buy herself a new dress for the big show on Friday, and then do some painting. After paying for her meal, and leaving a big tip, she headed down the street, opting to walk, instead of drive. She had food in her stomach, money in her pocket, and the promise of making connections, she had nothing to worry about for once, and was going to take full advantage of it. 

She window shopped for half an hour or so until deciding on a little shop. The painted sign above the door read “Marcie’s.” The bell rang as she opened the door, instantly surrounded by the scent of warm vanilla. Candles were lit in every corner, giving the shop a homey feel. She began looking through the first rack of beautifully made dresses, when an older plump woman approached her.

“Hi there. See anything you like?” She asked.

Cecile let her hands fondle a cobolt blue cocktail dress. “I like everything so far.” She turned her attention to the woman who was sticking out her hand.

“I’m, Marcie, the owner.” The shook hands.

“Cecile.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” She asked in a tone that was purely curious and helpful, rather than annoying.

“Well, I’m having an art showing of sorts, and need something nice for that.” Cecile started. “I don’t think I want anything short, maybe floor length?”

“You aren’t by any chance showing at the Jumpcut Gallery, are you?”

“Y-yes, I am.” She smiled proudly.

Marcie took her hands. “Oh, well congratulations! I know how hard it is to impress that old bat, Mrs. Seymour.” Cecile laughed, but didn’t want to bad mouth the woman who may very well have changed her life. “It’s a very fancy affair. Don’t worry, we’ll find you the perfect dress.

After selecting five options, Cecile went into the changing room to try them on. After trying on the first two, she was sold on any yet. The third was not one she would have chosen, but Marcie insisted she try it on

“It’s our newest item!” She told her. “The style is very big in Europe.”

Though Cecile wasn’t familiar with European style, she was almost positive it did not consist of a huge flower on one shoulder, and lace and beads. 

“How does it look?” Marcie asked excitedly.

“Oh...it...it doesn’t fit.” She lied, but it was the only way she wouldn’t be forced to model it for the old woman.

“That’s a shame. I bet you would’ve looked so lovely in it.” Marcie said from the other side of the curtain.

Cecile looked at her reflection. “Oh yes...very lovely.”

She quickly took it off and hung it back up. The fourth dress was a gorgeous red dress. She had never worn such a statement dress before. The top was cut in a halter style, pushing her breasts up nicely. The tight material hugged her waist and hips, and began to loosen up around the middle of her thighs. “I like the red one.” She said.

“Let me see!” Marcie shouted. Cecile stepped out of the dressing room and Marcie’s eyes widened. “Va-va-voom!”

Cecile laughed. “Is it too...” She motioned at her breasts. “You know...”

“It’s just the right amount.” Marcie reassured.

Cecile smiled, and just then, the sound of motorcycles erupted down the street.

“Oh!” Marcie nearly jumped out of her skin. She rushed to the big front window, followed by Cecile. Together, they watched at least 20 men on Harleys zoom down the street. “I hate it when they do this! It’s so noisy and obnoxious!” Marcie complained, both hands over her ears.

Cecile’s heart started racing, as she wondered if Tig was in the company of the other men, but they were going by so fast, they bleed together looking more like a black blur than people. She noticed on the back of their leather vests they all had the same symbol and words, though she couldn’t make out what they said. 

“Sons of Anarchy.” Marcie informed, noticing Cecile squinting, trying to read the clubs name.

“A motorcycle club?” She asked.

Marcie let out a shrill laugh and walked back over to the counter, helping herself to a cup of coffee. “Would you like one?” She offered.

“No thanks, I had two cups earlier today.” Cecile smiled.

Marcie took a long sip of the fresh brew and rested her elbows on the counter. “The Sons of Anarchy are not just a motorcycle club, deae. Evan Lancaster might be our mayor, but they run the show.” She took another sip.

Cecile furrowed her brows. She was intrigued. She knew very little of the motorcycle club lifestyle. There was the stereotype that they were all murderous rapists, who never showered. Then there was her only interaction with one, who was nothing but kind and helpful. “What do you mean?”

“They get into business with the big boys which keeps them up top. They’re politically and financially able to keep themselves out of jail, and keep things how they like it.” Another sip. “They do protect the people in town though, but in my opinion, they’re a bunch of dirt bags.”

Cecile nodded. Tig didn’t seem like a dirt bag. Even though she had her ‘22, he was big and easily could’ve taken advantage of her, but didn’t. “If they protect the people in town, doesn’t that make them decent?” 

“Oh, honey,” Marcie laughed. “They’ve killed more people than they protect.”

Cecile swallowed hard, but regained her composure, and looked back up at the plump woman. “I think I’ll try on the last dress now.”

“Make sure you show me when it’s on.” 

Cecile closed the dressing room curtain behind her, took off the slinky red dress, and hung it back up. The last dress was beautiful, it reminded her of a greek goddess. It was emerald green. The bodice was tight, and it loosened mid thigh, just like the red one. The capped sleeves had golden floral detail, it almost looked as if it was painted on. The collar was modest, starting just below her neck, but the back was completely open, showing off her tan skin. The colors complimented her eyes and hair. She knew this was the one.

She stepped out of the small dressing room, and Marcie almost dropped her mug when she saw her. “Oh my dear.” She walked over to her, awe painted across her face. “You look exquisite.”

Cecile let out a chuckle. She always felt uncomfortable accepting compliments. “Thank you.”

“Let’s see the back.” Marcie grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “Perfect!” She clapped. 

After Cecile payed for the dress, she asked Marcie if she would like to come to the showing as her plus one, since she didn’t know anyone else in town. She immediately said yes. 

With the dress safely in it’s cover, Cecile hung it up in the motel closet and got to work. She purchased garbage bags and had them laid out all over the floor with a large rectangular canvas resting on top. Her paints and brushes were neatly set up on the dresser. She stood with her hands on her hips, allowing the muse to come back to her. Ever since her encounter with Tig, she had to urge to paint a new piece. If it was good enough, she would bring this one to the show. When the idea hit her, she smiled and got to work.

***

Tig gripped the handles of his bike as he and the rest of the Son’s speed down the main street. They were on their way to the outskirts of Portland to meet Akbar and let him know they were in.

Once the paved road turned to dirt, Tig knew they were getting close. He hoped it wouldn’t take long, because he was   
starving. 

They pulled up to an open field. Two black Range Rovers surrounded a white Rolls Royce with three armed men standing outside of the car. 

Clay and Les dismounted their bikes, and the rest of the crew stayed. Tig watched as his brothers were patted down and disarmed by Akbar’s security. Satisfied, the door of the Rolls opened and they climbed in. 

After ten minutes passed, Tig started to space out, and to his dismay, his mind went right to the green eyed girl on the side of the road. Her delicate fingers running over the curves of his Harley. He cursed himself for allowing these thoughts back into his mind. He thought he took care of it once and for all the night before. He had been with many women, and didn’t think twice about them the next day, and he hadn’t even touched this girl and couldn’t get her off his mind. It was maddening. Her damn perfume was still on his damn mind. 

“You alright, Tiggy?” Chibs asked, his voice tearing Tig from his thoughts.

“Yeah man. It’s all good, I’m just hungry.”

“Aye, I had a nice juicy blonde for breakfast if you know what I mean.” Chibs smiled, twisting the scars on his face.

Tig laughed at his brother’s joke, but it was forced.   
Another twenty minutes ticked by, and Clay and Les finally emerged from the Rolls Royce. The security handed them back their guns, and they headed back to the club.

“What happened?” Jax rasped.

“It’s a go.” Clay informed as he buckled his helmet tightly around his large chin. “He told us she’s gonna be at a show Friday night. We’ll do it then.” He straddled his bike and stretched his hands before starting the engine. 

Jax shook his head, clearly not wanting to go through with this, but the votes were in Clay’s favor.

The presidents and vice presidents drove off first, the rest of the men followed in order, as birds of a flock fly together seamlessly.


	3. Chapter 3

Cecile watched as the black and white paint ran down her calves and mixed together like cream in coffee before swimming down the drain. This was her first shower in two days. She had done nothing but paint. When the idea for this new piece hit her, she was inspired, but after she started, she became obsessed with it, and determined to finish it by Friday. The more of the canvas she covered, the more she told herself no other painting was good enough to show, except this one. She had to finish. She raised her arms above her head and stretched as the hot water bounced off her skin. Her back cracked like a book being opened for the first time in years. She had spent most of the last two days hunched over her art. She didn’t have an easel large enough to rest the canvas on, so her only option was the motel floor. She tucked news papers underneath the edges so as not to get any paint of the green carpet. I probably would’ve done them a favor by staining that ugly thing, she thought. 

She crossed her arms and relaxed, letting the steam filling the room take her to another place. The only thing on her mind was her painting, and now that she was finally done, all of life’s worries and musings made their way back into her thoughts. She wondered if her father was looking for her, or even noticed that she left. She was careful not to leave a trail of bread crumbs behind her, no facebook, no twitter, she didn’t tell anyone she was leaving. Except Izzy...she thought. She had been so preoccupied and busy that she’d forgotten to call her and let her know she was alright. 

Izzy witnessed her father’s drunken ways first hand. She drove Cecile home one night after work, the diner closed later than usual. When she pulled up outside Cecile's modest home, her father came barging out. He pulled the car door open so hard he almost tore it off and grabbed Cecile’s arm.

“What were you and your whore friend doing out so late?” He yelled. “Your mother would be disgusted!”

“Dad stop!” Cecile cried, humiliated in front of the only girl who’s company she liked.

At that point, Izzy got out of her car and marched over to the other side. “Get your hands off of her!” She ordered in a shaky voice.

Cecile’s father just laughed. “This is kind of person you’re hanging out with? No manners, no class, speaking to her elders like that.” He spit in Izzy’s direction. “Get inside.” He kicked Cecile.

“I said get your hands off her.” Izzy commanded, this time her voice was calm and controlled.

The drunk man turned to her, and tightened his grip around Cecile. “You’re gonna come on my property and point a gun at me?”

A gun? Cecile turned to Izzy and saw she did indeed have a gun pointed at her father. 

“Get in the car, Cecile.” Izzy said, never taking her eyes off her father’s. “Now!”

Cecile wiggled free of her father’s hold and ducked in the passengers seat. Izzy didn’t lower the gun until she too was in the car. 

“This ain’t your home anymore, girl!” He yelled after the car as Izzy sped off. That statement would’ve once worried Cecile, but he was so drunk, she knew he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

The two girls were silently starred at the road illuminated by headlights in front of them. It wasn’t until Izzy pulled over by Raccoon River, that either spoke. She turned the car off and shifted in her seat so that she could face Cecile head on.

“Are you okay?” Izzy asked, her voice full of concern.

Cecile nodded, and kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. She was unfortunately used to her father’s behavior, but not used to having other people watch. Ever since her mother died, it had been extremely hard for her to make friends, or feel close to anyone, and Izzy had become like an older sister. After seeing what her home life was like, she figured she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her anymore.

“I’m fine.” Cecile whispered.

Cecile could feel Izzy’s eyes burning the side of her head, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. “Come on.” Izzy opened her door, and climbed out. The car shook as she slammed her door shut, and Cecile watched as her friend stepped in front of the headlights. “Well?” She held her hands out and smiled.

Cecile furrowed her brows in confusion, and brought her hand to the door handle, pulling it open.

The white sand crunched under her shoes as she slowly approached Izzy. “What are we doing?” She asked timidly. 

Izzy took her hands and looked at her intently. “One day, you’ll find freedom.” She didn’t need to say anything more. In that moment, Cecile smiled because she knew Izzy understood.

Izzy let go of Cecile’s hands and turned to the water. She pulled her tank top over her head, revealing her small perky breasts. She unbuttoned her jean shorts and stepped out of them. “Well, are you coming?” She asked over her shoulder.  
Cecile laughed, and nodded, taking off her clothes and joining Izzy where the water met land.

“One...two...” Izzy counted dramatically. “Three!” 

Together, the girls ran in the river, squealing with delight as the cool water hit their skin, covered in sweat from the humid night. 

Cecile held her breath and swam under water, all sounds gone, nothing existed down there but her. To her dismay, she was not a mermaid, and had to come up for air. The warm Summer night felt colder now, and her skin was covered in goose pimples.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” Izzy breathed.

“You have no idea.” Cecile marveled. She had grown up around this river and never once gone in. She immediately regretted all those times she denied invitations to come here. 

The girls floated on their backs, looking up at the starry sky, each thinking about their own problems and wishes. Each thankful they weren’t alone.

The steaming hot water crashed down on her shoulders and brought Cecile back to the present. She wasn’t sure how long she had been in the shower. Looking down, she saw all the paint had come off her body. She scrubbed herself with the small lemon scented bar of soap, and washed her hair. 

When she emerged from the shower and wrapped herself in one of the white towels folded nicely above the toilet, she imagined she must look like a ghost with the steam all around her. 

She dried herself off, rubbed lotion all over her body, wanting to make sure her skin looked nice for the show, and put on a clean t shirt and underwear.

She didn’t look at her painting, not wanting to notice any imperfections before getting into bed. Knowing herself, she wouldn’t be able to sleep until whatever she thought needed to be fixed was. 

She cracked the window open, allowing the fumes of her paints to leave the room and turned out the lights. She smiled as she rested her head on the cold pillow, thinking of the man who inspired her new painting.

***

Tig cracked his knuckles under the table. A pair of twos... fuckin’ fantastic. He was never good at poker which is why he was reluctant to play, but Jax, Opie and Chibs insisted. It was either this, or take part in the orgy going on in the next room.

The choice would’ve been obvious a few days ago. If there was anything Tig loved as much as his bike or a good whiskey, it was the softness of a woman's body. When his large rough hands touched the delicate curves of a woman, he felt more powerful than ever. It was like something natural kicked in, and he felt how he imagined a male lion would. The need to mate, and protect was stronger than anything in those moments, but it always ended the same way, the girl moving on to the next man that showed her any bit of attention, and Tig feeling empty. 

A loud moan from the other room drew a laugh from the brother’s around the table. Things were still tense between him and Opie. Though they made amends, he could never take back accidently killing Donna, Opie’s late wife. He took a mother away from their children, a wife away from her husband, and even though Opie was now with Lyla, and maybe even forgiven him, Tig could never forgive himself.

“Who do you reckon is causing that sweet song?” Chibs asked the table of four.

Opie took a gulp of his beer. “Juice.” He grumbled in a deep voice. 

“Nah man.” Jax started, waving a finger in the air. “Happy.”  
A unanimous no filled the room. “I’m telling you! I’ve heard him with woman before, man. The crazy bastard knows what he’s doing”

Tig. “My money’s on Bobby.”

“Dude...” Opie laughed.

Tig looked at Jax and Chibs for support. “Aw come on! He’s Elvis for Christ sakes! He’s a smooth talker.” The men laughed and shook their heads. “Ladies love that hairy shit now a days too, I’m telling you.”

The moan came from the room again, this time louder. All the men looked at each other said “Juice,” in unison.

“That’s my boy!” Chibs added. “Why aren’t you young bucks in there? I’m sure there’s plenty of girls to go around.”

“Hey! What about me!” Tig interrupted.

“Why would any girl chose you over one of these boys?” Chibs laughed.

“Girls like older men. We know what were doing and can last longer than two minutes.” Tig winked at Jax who retorted by throwing a peanut at him. 

“Well I don’t know about Op, but I have Tara now. Shit’s serious, I already fucked it up once, I don’t wanna do it again.” Jax said.

“Amen brother.” Opie nodded.

“Well of course you agree, you have a porn star waiting for you back home.” Chibs teased.

Opie didn’t laugh, just took another sip of his beer. Tig knew he was sensitive about Lyla continuing her work at Caracara. Tig briefly wondered what it would be like to have someone like Tara or Lyla waiting for him back home.

“Alright, I’m about ready to end this game.” Tig quickly changed the subject, not wanting Opie to feel uncomfortable. They weren’t great friends before he killed Donna, in fact Tig was certain Opie never liked him, but now he tried to make an effort with him. It was painfully obvious to everyone around him, but he didn’t care. He would do anything to rid himself of the guilt that wrapped it self around him constantly. He threw his cards on the table, letting his brothers see his shitty hand.

“No surprise there.” Jax chuckled.

“Ha, ha.” Tig fired back.

The rest of the men showed their cards, and Chibs greedily took the cash in the middle of the table after proudly displaying his royal flush.

“God damn Irish bastard.” Tig said, watching Chib’s hands crumble his money.

“What can I say boys,” Chibs started. “there are two things a father teaches a boy in Ireland. The river dance, and how to play poker.” 

“Why don’t go get on up there and show us your moves.” Opie joked. Tig laughed a little too loud.

“I already crushed the lot of ye’ in poker, I don’t want to make you feel even worse about yourselves.” Chibs took a shot. 

After Chibs took his winnings to his room, he joined Tig, Jax, and Opie, and together they entered the orgy room. When they opened the doors, the smell of stale beer and sweat over powered them. Naked girls, and tattooed men were spread all over the place. It was hard to tell where one person began and another ended. Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire.” Boomed through out the room.

“Alright boys, have a good night.” Chibs rubbed his hands together and was off. Tig watched him scan the room and within seven seconds, he had his arm around a bleach blonde skinny thing. Chibs loved blondes.

Tig didn’t have a preference, but he found he favored girls who looked more natural then ones with dyed hair and heavy makeup. There was nothing worse than looking at a girl after he fucked her and seeing black smudges all over her cheeks. 

Jax and Opie sat on a leather couch in the corner watching and laughing. A girl approached them but they shook their heads no.

“What are you doing all by yourself sweetheart?” A forced mousy voice asked Tig.

His blue eyes went to the girl standing in front of hum. She was pretty, but her hair was messy, and mascara streamed down her cheeks. He wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s sloppy seconds.

“Sorry darlin’. Not tonight.”.” 

The girl looked at him like he slapped her mother, and with a “hurumph” she walked away. Tig watched her ass bounce as she went over to another, and sat on his lap.

He felt a pat on his back and turned to his right. His president stood by him, head hanging down from too much booze. Tig noticed a hickey on his neck. Gemma isn’t going to be happy about that, he thought. The crow eaters in Charming knew not to leave an marks on Clay in fear of Gemma’s wrath.

“We need to talk.” He growled.

“Okay.” Tig nodded.

They left the room, closing the doors behind them. Tig went over to sit at the bar, but Clay stopped him.

“Not here.” 

Tig followed his president out side. The Oregon night was chilly, and the smell of rain was fresh on the Earth. Tig didn’t realize how musty the air was in the clubhouse, and took a few deep satisfying breaths before turning to Clay. “What’s up.”

“I don’t trust Les. He’s not one hundred percent down with this deal.” Tig wasn’t sure of what to say so he just stayed quiet. “We can’t fuck up. Akbar is going to give us a shit ton of money, and I won’t have anyone ruin it.”

A bad feeling boiled in Tig’s gut. He was Sergeant at Arms, and that meant doing the dirty work with out question. “What do you want me to do, boss?” Tig reluctantly asked.

“Tomorrow, at the auction, if you notice anything suspicious, or get the chance to, fix the Les problem.” Clay closed the distance between them and put his large hand on Tig’s shoulder. “We can’t trust him. Understand?”

Tig nodded. “Yeah.”

Knowing he could count on Tig, Clay nodded and headed back   
to the clubhouse. The muffled music blared through the doors as Clay walked inside.

Tig stayed outside. He couldn’t resist how good the clean air felt traveling in and out of his lungs. He found a stump, and groaned as he lowered himself. Since the Charming charter had been in Portland, they had done lots of long drives, and the hours on the road were starting to take a toll on his body. He wanted a break, but they had a job to do. He looked up at the sky and hoped Clay was wrong. He acted like a had a lust for blood, to fool the others, or himself, he didn’t know, but like the long drives, the killing was starting to take a toll on his mind. He didn’t want anymore blood on his hands, but he couldn’t let the club down. They were all he had.

***

Cecile laid on her stomach scrolling through her phone, looking at pictures of actresses and models with pretty hairstyles to try and get an idea of how she should do her hair. The auction was tonight and she wanted to look her best. Since her dress was backless, she decided she should put her long hair in some sort of an updo. After ten minutes of searching, she decided on a braided halo. It looked easy enough.

She looked at the clock. It was only 9:15 am and she didn’t have to be at the gallery until 7pm to set up for the 8pm showing. She rolled over and stretched before getting up, getting dressed and heading out the door.

Still tired from her two day painting fest, she decided to drive instead of walk to the coffee shop on main street. It was a beautiful day and she took a seat outside. Sunglasses on, she people watched while waiting for her breakfast. The waiter brought her an egg and cheese omelet which she scarfed down in a matter of seconds. She hadn’t had a proper meal for days. While she waited for a side of toast, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and the name “Izzy” popped up.

“Izzy!” She answered getting a few looks from people walking by. She told her friend about the success she’s been having in Portland and her show tonight. Izzy expressed her happiness for her, and told her she decided it was finally time she move to New York. She always loved fashion, and she got an internship at a magazine in the big apple. She told her she found a roommate and Cecile could come see her anytime. Cecile promised she would call her after the show and tell her how everything went. “This could be it, Iz. This could be the night that gives me a career.”

They finished their conversation, and after breakfast, Cecile walked over to Marcie’s Shop. The little bell above the door jingled, and Marcie popped her head out of the back room. Seeing who it was, a smile grew on her face. 

“Hi love!” She waddled over to Cecile and gave her a big hug. “Are you excited?”

“More nervous, than excited, but excited nonetheless.” Cecile smiled.

“Good, good!” Marcie headed to the back room, yelling over her shoulder. “I need your opinion, you young girls always know what looks best.” She came out of the room holding two dresses up. She was so short, the hems swept across the floor. “Which one do you think?”

Marcie held the first one over her body. It was a simple black dress with a silver leaf looking belt going around the waist. The other was a vibrant orange with ruffled sleeves. Cecile knew the orange one was more Marcie’s style, but this was going to be a nice event, and the black one would be more appropriate. Plus, it was slimming. 

“I like the black one better. The belt adds a nice touch.”

Marcie seemed disappointed she didn’t choose the orange one, but simply shrugged and hung it back up. “Do you have any earrings that match the dress you bought, hun?” 

Cecile wasn’t one who wore jewelry often so the answer came easy. “No.”

“Why don’t you take a look in the case and see if there’s anything you like.” Marcie suggested.

Cecile was careful not to rest her hands on the clean glass and looked at the beautiful sparkling jewels inside the case. 

A pair of small gold leaves caught her eye. “Those are pretty.”

“Which ones, dear?” Marcie squinted.

Cecile pointed at the delicate leaves and Marcie opened the case taking them out. She handed them to Cecile, who held them up to her earlobes in the mirror on the counter. 

“They’re beautiful.” 

“They’re yours.” Marcie smiled.

“What? No I couldn’t...” 

“Yes you can.” Marcie interrupted. “This is your big night. You keep them.” 

Cecile bent over the counter and threw her arms around Marcie. “Thank you.”

“You’re going to knock ‘em dead.” 

Cecile smiled, and for the first time in awhile, she felt hopeful.

***

“Nari Cho will not be harmed, understand?” Les looked around the table. Some members said “yes,” others nodded. “I need a vocal yes from everyone here.”

The room chanted “yes.” 

“Good.” Les relaxed in his seat. 

“The Cho’s are a powerful family so we’ll be takin’ precautions. Leavin’ our kuttes here and wearing masks. Juice is and Bobby are gonna drive the vans, all you guys have to do is be ready with your guns.”

“We’re not killing anyone.” Les interjected. 

Tig noticed Clay clench his fists. If there was one thing his president hated it was being interrupted.

“Don’t worry man, Akbar said no blood needs to be shed.” Jax reassured. 

Jax’s added comment only aided in Clay’s fury, but he swallowed it down alike a good bourbon. “That’s right. This is a simple kidnapping. No fuss. We’re bringing her to the cabin while Akbar meets and negotiates with Cho. When he calls us, we’ll take her back to where we picked her up, safe and sound. The guns are just a precaution.”

“Her kids aren’t gonna be with her, right?” Les asked.

“Akbar checked the guest list. She’s using her plus one for her mother.” 

Les nodded, taking in Clay’s words. “We’re trusting you brother.” 

Clay slightly bowed his head with false gratitude. “I have to thank you again. All of you for agreeing to help us with this.” He scanned the table, taking in each and every Son.   
“I, we, couldn’t do this with out you.”

“We know.” The vice president of the Portland charter joked. 

The laughs eased the tension in the room, and Les smacked the gavel, ending the meeting. 

It was only 5pm. They still had a few hours to kill before heading over to the gallery. While the men played cards, smoked, and slapped crow eaters tight asses, Tig left the never ending party and went outside to clear his mind.

He walked far enough from the clubhouse so that he couldn’t hear the music anymore. There was a patch of forest just a few feet away, and he wandered through the trees, kicking pine cones out of his path, and taking long puffs of his cigarette. The sound of running water filled his ears, and he headed in that direction. The creek was small, and the water flowed steadily along. 

Tig leaned against the trunk of a tall black cottonwood and took another long puff of his cig. He pressed the back of his head against the tree as hard as he could, until the pain became unbearable. Clay’s words echoed in his mind. He didn’t want to take out Les. He was sick and tired of being seen as having no soul. It was starting to catch up with him. Maybe when Clay’s hands get bad enough and he leaves, things will be different, he thought. All dressed in black, he looked out of place in the middle of the Oregon forest. The beautiful vivid colors, Earthy smells, and life surrounding him, made him look like death itself, burning everything in his path. 

He starred straight ahead, admiring the brilliant greens of the trees, briefly reminding him of those eyes. The girl on the side of the road. He hadn’t been able to push her out of his mind since that night. She probably doesn’t even remember my name, he chuckled to himself. He sighed, and crushed his cigarette against his wallet, not wanting to drop it on the ground. Part of him wanted so badly to be a part of nature. To just exist, maybe even try to be happy instead of destroying life. He was tired of playing death. 

He stayed out there for a while before the bright sun cast a warm orange glow, telling him it was getting late. He made his way back to the clubhouse just in time to see Jax walk out and spot him.

“Where you been, bro?” He asked.

“Oh, I was just takin’ a walk.” 

Jax furrowed his brows and put his hand on Tig’s shoulder. “We need you to look over the weapons, make sure we’re all good for tonight.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I don’t think we’ll be needin’ them though.” Jax narrowed his gaze, silently telling Tig not to use his weapon.

Tig nodded, letting Jax know he understood. Satisfied, Jax walked back into the clubhouse, leaving Tig outside, no closer to finding the answers he so desperately wanted.

***

Another car blasted it’s horn at Cecile but she didn’t speed up. She stuck her hand out her window and waved them along. Her new painting was safely covered in the backseat, and she was driving as she imagined a first time mother would. The passenger in the other car flipped her off as they speed past, but she didn’t care. She was in her new dress on her way to the auction, feeling like a million bucks. 

She smiled and bobbed her head to the radio. The song ended and Lana Del Rey’s, Guns and Roses came on. Cecile turned the volume up, having never heard this song. 

“Motorcycle love, divine  
I should’ve learned to let you stay”

The word motorcycle brought her back to the man who fixed her car. Tig...what an odd name. Her stomach started tingling the way it had when his blue eyes pierced through hers. She had never seen eyes that color. What started off a fear when he got off his bike, looking like the devil himself, turned into something else as he fixed her car and spoke of freedom. She saw he wasn’t a devil, just a mere mortal who was as lost as she. She wondered where he was now. If he had any destination, or if he was just driving where ever he felt he should. 

“I can feel it comin’ in the air tonight,  
See you workin’ on that blue Pacific”

Cecile started to memorize the rhythm of the song and hummed along with it until she pulled into the back driveway of the Jumpcut Gallery. She parked and was greeted by Robbie, Ida’s assistant. 

“Hey, Robbie!” Cecile smiled taking in his appearance. His black suit fit him perfectly. There was nothing like a man in a tailored suit. 

“Oh, honey! You look amazing!?” He admired before kissing both of Cecile’s cheeks.

“Thanks, so do you.” She laughed.

He looked through the window of her backseat. “Is this it?” He asked, opening the door.

“Yep.” 

“Can I peak?” He asked, tugging on the sheet it was wrapped in.

“Nope. I don’t want to jinx anything.”

Robbie shook his head and laughed. “Artists.”

Cecile held the back door open for Robbie who was carrying her painting. She heard the quick clicking of heels against the marble floor and saw Ida turn the corner, dramatically holding her arms out.

“Darling!” She shouted, causing stares from the other artists.

“Ida.” Cecile smiled, and embraced the short woman, careful not to get any make-up on her black pant suit. 

“You look stunning!” She marveled, taking in Cecile’s gown. “Taylor!” She snapped. “Take a photo of us, would you?”

A young boy who couldn't have been over twenty held a Canon 5D over his face and snapped a couple shots of the duo.

“I always take pictures with my new stars.” Ida said through her smile.

After making sure her piece was tucked safely away with the others in the order the were to be shown, she headed into the main room, where guests were starting to arrive. The event was invitation only, and the crowd was much different than the one a few nights ago. These guests were covered in designer clothes, their make up and hair professionally styled. They’re more beautiful than the paintings...Cecile thought. 

A breathtaking Korean woman caught her eye. She looked like a Geisha Queen, except she was dressed head to toe in Chanel. She walked as if she was floating in the air. She held her son close, who looked just as regal as his mother. Cecile stared until they took there seats in the front row. The lights flashed on and off a few times, telling the buyers it was time to take their seats. 

Butterflies flew wildly in Cecile’s stomach. The show was about to begin!


	4. Chapter 4

“8,000 dollars.” A skinny old man said as he lowered his flag. A pretty, young girl giggled in his ear. The mink fur wrap she wore made Cecile feel sick. She never understood why people glamorized wearing a dead animal’s skin as a sign of status. 

“8,000 dollars.” The auctioneer repeated in his monotone voice. No one else spoke. The man who was bidding against him clenched his jaw. “Going once, going twice...” He looked around once more before shouting. “Sold! To Mr. Ormsby and his fiance.”

The crowd applauded. Mr. Ormsby’s finance kissed him on the cheek and whispered “Thank you, darling,” against his neck.

Ida’s men took the large painting of a sail boat off the stage to be wrapped and sent to Mr. Ormsby’s estate. The artist went over to Mr. Ormsby and shook his hand. Cecile watched with jealousy, as other people in the audience tried to get the artist’s attention. 

“Everyone, please settle down!” The auctioneer ordered. “You will be able to speak to one another when the auction has concluded.” The chatter died down, and the auctioneer cleared his throat. “Thank you. Now.” He held out his left arm as Ida’s men carried out the next piece, carefully setting it down on the golden stand. 

Cecile admired the painting. It was an abstract piece. Splats of white covered the left bottom half of the canvas that slowly turned into different shades of red, which ended in the darkest black on the top right side of the canvas. These kinds of paintings were not meant to be pretty, but thought provoking. It reminded Cecile of anger. 

“The piece is called Fade, and the artist is Laura Stanboursh.” The audience clapped as Laura emerged from back stage and took her place next to the painting. “The opening price is 2,000 dollars.”

Immediately, someone from the audience raised there flag. “2,000 dollars.” 

Cecile looked at the bidder, and behind him noticed a mass of red curly hair. She moved her head a little, trying to get a better look at the woman and smiled when she saw it was Marcie. She desperately wanted to go over and say hi, maybe even hear some words of encouragement. God knows she needed it. Talking to her friend Izzy earlier that morning was helpful, but the butterflies in her stomach were flying around wildly, and she was terrified. She knew she was lucky to even be a part of this auction, she was just scared it was her only chance to make a living as an artist and didn’t want to mess it up.   
Marcie caught her eyes and her whole face lite up with a big smile. She gave Cecile a reassuring nod, which eased her nerves. Cecile gave her an excited smile in return, and closed the curtain she was peaking out of. 

“!0,000 dollars.” The beautiful Korean woman in the front row was putting her flag down. “!0,000 dollars.” The auctioneer repeated. “Going once, going twice.” He paused momentarily before finishing, “Sold to Mrs. Cho for 10,000 dollars!”

The audience applauded. The painting was carried off the stage and Laura went over to Mrs. Cho and shook her hand. 

Two cold hands wrapped around Cecile’s shoulders and spun her around. “Are you ready my dear?” Ida asked.

Cecile nodded. “I think so.” She breathed. 

“Good.” Ida smacked her bottom and Cecile laughed. “Loosen up, you’re going to be fine.”

Cecile looked at the Gallery owner and smiled. Once the applause for the painter before her died down, the auctioneer cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone. “Our next piece is called “Venture” and the artist is Cecile Radley. 

Cecile took one last deep breath before leaving the invisibility of the backstage curtains and being completely exposed to the judgements of the audience. She looked at all the eyes on her work. Her inspiration was displayed for all to see, and it was terrifying. She stopped herself from fidgeting and tried to look as proud as she could. She tore her eyes from the audience and looked at her painting. 

The black and white strokes of her brush made out the face of a man. Who’s eyes spoke of adventure, laughed at memories, and cried from past experiences. 

The deafening silence that filled the room seemed to last years until the auctioneer finally spoke. “The opening price is 7,000 dollars.”

He scanned the room, but Cecile was too scared to look.  
“7,000, do I have 7,000? 7,000 dollars?” Like being on a high bridge, Cecile couldn’t help but take a peak at the audience and to her surprise, she saw three flags up. “7,000 dollars. Do I have 8,000 dollars? 8,000 dollars?”

One of the flags went down.

“8,000” Another flag went down. “8,000 dollars. Going once, g---”

The auctioneer was interrupted by Mrs. Cho who raised her flag, and smiled prettily.

“9,000 dollars.” Mrs. Cho and the other potential buyer kept their flags raised. “10,000 dollars.” The auctioneer continued.

Cecile’s heart was racing.

Mrs. Cho turned to size up the man bidding against her. She turned back around and said, “20,000 dollars.”

Cecile wasn’t sure if it was because she was so stunned, but she could’ve sworn the woman winked at her. 

Her increase in the price even surprised the auctioneer. He cleared his throat. “Going once, going twice.” He paused for an especially long before slamming down the hammer and shouting, “Sold, to Mrs. Cho!”

The audience applauded, and an especially loud whistle came from Marcie. Cecile could scarcely breathe. She flushed red from embarrassment when the auctioneer put his hand on her shoulder motioning for her to leave the stage. Her frozen body moved and she walked down the stairs as gracefully as she could. She approached the Korean beauty and shook her hand. For such a delicate looking woman, her shake was firm and strong.

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Cho.” Cecile breathed,

Mrs. Cho slightly bowed her head and smiled. 

“You’re a very good painter.” The young boy sitting next to his mother said in a small voice.

“Thank you.” Cecile replied.

“He wants to be a painter.” Mrs. Cho lovingly pet his head.

“The next piece...” The auctioneer began, cuing Cecile to take her place back stage. She thanked Mrs. Cho once more behind retreating behind the curtains.

“You are fabulous!” Ida embraced her, kissing both of her cheeks. “How do you feel?” 

Cecile was at a loss for words “I--” She let out a breathy laugh and shook her head.

“That’s alright dear.” Ida wiped her purple lipstick from Cecile’s cheek. “Go, enjoy the hors d’oeuvres and champagne, calm yourself. When the auction is over, you’ll have a chance to mingle with the other buyers.”

“Okay.” Cecile nodded nervously.

“Do you have business cards?” Ida asked. 

“Bus---Oh god, No. I don’t. Should I?” Cecile stuttered.

“Not to worry.” Ida reached into her Swarovski clutch and pulled out a slim silver case. She handed it to Cecile and smiled. “I had some made for you.”

Cecile opened the case and picked up one of the pastel blue business cards that had her name, phone number, and website. 

“A website?” Her brows furrowed.

“Yes dear, we are now in an age where people don’t want to talk to each other, they’d prefer to do all business online. It was necessary.”

The thought of Ida spending all this thought, time, and money on her made her feel like she was worth something. She knew the most important thing was to believe in herself, but having someone else believe was all the more special. She closed the little silver case and smiled gratefully at Ida. 

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.” Ida raised her eyebrows. “You’re going to be making me a lot of money.”

The audience erupted with applause as another painter successfully sold their work. Cecile went over to the crafts and services table and picked up a glass of red wine. She crossed her arms and stood watching all the commotion backstage. Artists nervously waiting in line for their turn, Ones who sold their work gloating, ones who didn’t sell theirs for a lot crying, and Ida’s assistants running around trying to keep everything under control. 

“I think you were the biggest sell of the night.” Robbie playfully bumped hips with Cecile making her spill a few drops of Cabernet. “That painting was different than your others.”

“Yeah. I was inspired.” Cecile mused.

“By who? From the looks of it, he’s quite a man.”

Cecile bite her lip and smiled. “We interacted for like, five minutes. My tire crapped out on me and he helped me for nothing.”

“Mhmm.” Robbie teased. “Are you sure that’s all that happened?”

Cecile rolled her eyes. “Honestly Robbie!”

“I kid, I kid.” He gave her a warm hug. “Congratulations baby.”

“Thanks.”

“God dammit!” One of the other artists yelled, throwing a glass of champagne. 

“Oh dear.” Robbie said to himself and rushed over to the man, trying to calm him down.

Cecile turned to the food and bit into one of the crackers with brie spread on top. She wasn’t much of a cheese fan but she had to admit it was delicious. The cheese melted in her mouth and she pondered Robbie’s question. Yes, she was certain that was all that happened during her encounter with the biker. So why can’t I get him out of my mind, she thought.

***

“AKs, Shot guns, and automatics.” Tig pointed to. Clay, Jax, and Les stood with their arms crossed looking at the weapons laid out in front of them. “Oh yeah, and grenades.” Tig added.

“Grenades! This isn’t that kind of ---” Les panicked.

Tig put his hands up. “I’m joking man.”

“Now isn’t really the time.” Jax rasped.

Tig raised his eye brows. “Just tryin’ to lighten the mood boys.”

“This is perfect.” Clay said, defending his right hand man. “More than enough.”

Happy walked in and announced the masks were ready. 

“Alright, thanks.”

“I’m pretty sure I got the distance of everyone’s eyes right.” He added, his black eyes stared dead.

Jax smiled, used to Happy’s odd ways. “Cool, bro.”

Happy left the room, leaving a thick layer of confusion behind him. 

The club sat around the table and finished going over the final plans.

“We’ll enter from the back.” Clay started. “You guys wait in parking lot with the vans. If we need your help we’ll call you.” He said with a calmness he constantly wore.

“I’m comin’ with you guys.” Les said. “This is my territory, I trust you but I have to make sure you don’t fuck anything up.”

“Understood.” Clay said, with a little less calmness this time. “Well need men at the cabin with everything ready.”

“Alright.” Les agreed. “Devin, Grant, and Kyle. You guys head on up to the cabin.”

The three men nodded to their president. 

“Well, unless anyone has anything else to say, I think we’re ready to roll.” Clay sat up straight.

Les looked around at his men and nodded. “Ready boys?”

A unanimous “yeah,” and the banging of fists against the table filled their sacred chapel. 

Tig hopped onto one of the seats in the back of one of the two large white vans. It felt strange, being out with the boys with out his kutte. He usually savored taking off his leather for when he was alone, but this wasn’t the first mission where they left their kuttes at home. Juice started the van, and they zoomed down the dirt path headed into town. Chibs followed close behind in the other van. 

Tig fingered his mask and looked out the window. Being this far away from town was a curse when you wanted booze in the middle of the night, but a blessing when you looked up a the sky. The stars scattered across the sky shone brilliantly. The way some where off by themselves and others clustered together reminded him of the freckles on Cecile’s nose. 

The women he usually encountered had makeup caked on, trying so hard to mask any imperfections they thought they had. Tig always had a thing for freckles. Jesus Christ, he internally scolded, stop thinking of that fucking girl! He pushed her away, deciding later he may have to get himself off again. He shoved her away for later and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Les was sitting in the passenger’s seat. Tig stared at the back of his head hoping he wouldn’t have to put a bullet through it. He didn’t want any more unnecessary blood on his hands. 

The car violently shook as Juice drove over a pot hole.  
“Watch the road, Juicy!” Jax yelped, rubbing the top of his blonde head.

“Sorry...sorry.” Juice looked at him in the rear view. Tig didn’t know if it was just him who noticed, but Juice seemed   
to be acting different lately. Nervous. Jumpy. Something seemed off about him. Tig wanted to ask if he was alright, but he didn’t want to call him out in front of the guys. He would check up on his brother later.

“What’s on your mind, Tiggy?” Jax asked, not having the same curtesy Tig was giving Juice. 

“The usual. Babes and booze.” He forced a laugh.

“You alright? He asked, quieter this time so only Tig could hear. 

“Yeah man, why?”

“You just seem quiet.” He paused, thinking his next words over carefully. “If Clay is putting you up to anything---”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa man.” Tig interrupted before Jax could take his accusations any further. Try as he might, he didn’t have the best poker face. 

“I’m sorry brother, you just don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m good man.” Tig tried to think of something more to say, to convince the young vie president there was nothing to worry about. “Just wish I was better at poker.” Another forced laugh.

Jax studied his eyes momentarily before letting out a laugh through his nose. “Yeah, Chibs cleans up all out every damn time.”

“Damn dirty Scotsman.”

The closer they got to Portland, the less stars Tig could see. The yellow street lights obstructed his view. Through the tinted windows he saw people walking along the busy street. Groups of girls giggling, guys pushing each other around, couples holding hands with hopeful futures. They were all so...normal. Tig didn’t understand how some people were lucky enough to live their lives like that. Worrying about bills, relationships, what to have for dinner, what to name their stupid pet, normal things. He would give anything to have those concerns instead of who he had to kill next, looking over his shoulder everywhere he went, whether or not his brothers would turn on him if he fucked up. These were the day to day worries that plagued his tortured mind.

“I think it’s just up ahead.” Juice said, taking Tig out of his thoughts. He could fantasize about a normal life later. Getting distracted like that was how people got killed.

“Masks on boys.” Jax said, pulling his black mask over his face. His blonde hair stuck out from the bottom.

“How do they fit?” Happy asked. “Do you guys like them?”

“They’re fantastic, Hap.” Juice said.

“Snug as a rug.” Jax added. 

“I might wear mine everyday.” Tig joked.

A grinch like smile grew on Happy’s face before he donned his mask. It was best to play along with crazy than go against it. 

They pulled up across the street from the Jumpcut Gallery. The modern white building stuck out from all the others on the street. There were a few nice restaurants and an old theater but they all seemed to stick with a rustic theme. It was a chilly night and though nearby shops were busy, the street in front of the Gallery was quiet. 

The back door of the van swung open. Clay, Bobby, and Chibs climbed in, closing the door behind them. The pulled their masks over heir faces.

“Juice, you’re gonna pull around back, the other van will follow. You and Bobby take care of security. Keep ‘em occupied until we come out with the girl.” Juice and Bobby nodded. “The rest of you will come with me. We don’t know how big of a crowd is in there, so we need man power. Keep everyone still. Chances are she has a bodyguard close by. Jax, find him.” Jax nodded. “Alright, lets make this quick.”

Juice pulled the van into the driveway of the gallery and stopped short in front of the large back doors that were used for shipments. Juice and Bobby quickly got out of the car and knocked on the back door. A security guard opened it, and before he could draw his gun Juice kicked him in the knee and he fell to the floor.

Bobby reached down and took his gun from its holster. “You won’t be needin’ this.”

“Please, don’t kill me.” The security guard shook.

“Just stay still and be quiet.” Juice ordered. Tig noticed even when his young brother tried to sound menacing it still came off as sweet. No wonder the ladies loved him.

“All clear.” Bobby hollered to the rest of the guys. Tig, Jax, Clay, Les and Chibs jumped out of the van.

“When you hear us comin’ start the car.” Clay said in Juice’s ear.

Tig followed close behind Clay as the men made their way in the back of the Gallery. A normal man’s heart would start racing, but not his. He learned how to control it in situations like these. This was nothing new to him. He was sadly used to it.

***

After Idas thank you speech to the painters, buyers and guests, the party begun. The sweet aromas of full bodied wines, macaroons, and other treats filled the large room. A medieval chandelier hung from the tall ceiling. Cecile kept looking at it, wanting it to look out of place but somehow it fit in the stark white room. 

“Miss?” A waiter tapped Cecile on the shoulder.

She spun around and almost knocked over the tray of assorted chocolate covered strawberries. “Sorry.” She breathed. She picked a white chocolate covered strawberry. “Thank you.”

“Ms. Radley?” A good looking man who couldn't be older than 35 approached Cecile. He wore a well tailored suit. Cecile blushed a little and pushed a loose tendril behind her ear. He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Peter Marcelli.”

“Cecile.” She smiled and shook his hand. His skin was surprisingly soft.

“I know.” He returned her smile. “I enjoyed your work.”

“Thank you, Mr. Marcelli.”

“Please, call me Peter.”

“Well, thank you Peter.” She bite into the strawberry, the sweetness burst in her mouth.

“Are you familiar with the work of Albert Dagnaux.”

“I am.”

“His work always made me feel as though I was spying on the people in his paintings. Like I was looking at them and not a canvas. That’s what yours reminded me of.”

Cecile looked to the ground, not used to such compliments. “Wow, thank you.”

“Who’s the man?” He asked.

“There are people who come into our lives, even just for a moment and make a huge impact. I guess he was one of those people.”

“I was at your showing on Tuesday. It’s very different from your other work. Do you plan on painting more like this?”

Cecile nodded. “I do.”

“Good.” He smiled, his gaze lingered on her lips. “I own a gallery in San Francisco. I’d like to speak with you about showing there.”

Cecile’s eyes widened. San Francisco was where she wanted to be. She could live and breath art. “I--I would love that!”

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “May I have your information?”

“Of course.” Cecile fumbled through her clutch and pulled out the little silver case Ida gave her. “Just a second..”  
She struggled holding the clutch and opening the case. 

“May I?” Peter smiled, offering to hold her clutch.

“Thanks.” Once she had her other hand free she opened the case and handed him one of her business cards. He looked it over before putting it in his pocket. He handed her clutch back.

“I look forward to speaking with you soon, Miss Radley.”  
She him walk away with more confidence than she would ever have. He passed by a red headed woman who waved at Cecile and waddled over. 

“Marcie!” Cecile had to bend her knees in order to give her a proper hug. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course! I know Ida hates that I’m here.” She said triumphantly. “My dear, I was just imagining some sort of water color looking thing but your work was extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary. Do you think you might paint something for my store? I’d pay you!”

“You don’t need to pay me Marcie, I’d be happy to.”

“That man looked familiar.” 

“Peter? The one I was just talking to?”

“No, no, not him. Very handsome but not familiar. The man in the painting. I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

 

“I can’t help you there. I don’t know much about him.” Cecile noticed Mrs. Cho head to the ladies room with her son. 

“I know I’ve seen him somewhere.” 

“I’m sorry Marcie, will you excuse me for a moment?”

“Yes, go sweetheart.”

Cecile gave Marcie a quick kiss on the cheek before walking across the room to the ladies.

“I see you know Miss Radley.” Ida positioned herself next to Marcie.

“Yes. I was Cecile’s plus one.” Marcie scoffed, taking a chocolate covered strawberry from a waiter passing by. 

“So that’s where all the strawberries have gone.” 

Cecile entered the ladies room. It was different than the dingy one back stage. The walls were white and pink. White sink were on one side and vanities with little pink chairs on the other. 

Mrs. Cho’s son was patiently waiting for his mother in the corner. His face buried in his iPhone. Beeps and dings were coming from the small screen and Cecile guessed he was playing a game. Even a boy as nicely dressed and well behaved as he would rather be playing video games than sitting here.

Cecile sat down and pretended to fix her hair in the mirror. With the flush of the toilet Mrs. Cho emerged from the stall and washed her hands. When she turned around her eyes met Cecile’s in the mirror.

“Miss Radley.” She cooed and waltzed over to the chair next to her.

“Mrs. Cho. I saw you come in here and I hope you don’t mind, I just wanted to thank you away from all the people and  
cameras.”

She reached into her Fendi purse and took out a compact mirror with powder. She gently dabbed the sponge over her nose and forehead. “There is something very sad about the world today Miss Radley. Men have run things for a very long time and it’s our job to stand behind them, nod, and look pretty. That’s how I was raised, it’s my destiny. There is something admirable about a woman, especially one as young and as talented as you trying to make her own way in the world with out the permission or help from a man. Not only do I respect and envy that, but I would like to help you. You’re work is very good. Very thought provoking, but not worth 20,000 dollars.”

“Oh...” Cecile put her head down.”

Mrs. Cho lifted Cecile’s chin with her hands. “I can see that you need the money. I have been fortunate enough to never be hungry, or cold, but I have been lost Miss Radley. What I wouldn’t give for someone to have helped me. I imagine it’s how all girls who lose their mothers must feel.”

“H--How did you know that I lost my mother?”

“It’s a pain that never leaves ones eyes.” She turned back to the mirror and finished powdering her already perfectly powdered face. “That’s why I do what needs to be done, to make sure he never has that pain. It’s a mothers job to shield their children from any unnecessary pain.” 

Cecile looked at her son sitting in the corner. His little nose still buried in his game, imagining if she created something that sweet and innocent she too would go to the edge of the Earth to protect it. 

“What needs to be done?” Cecile asked.

Mrs. Cho closed her compact and tucked it back into her designer purse and politely ignored Cecile’s question. “I look forward to finding a perfect spot in my home to hang your painting, Miss Radley.” She stood and held her hand out. “Come on darling.” Her son put his game in his pocket and obediently took his mothers hand. “What do you say?”

“Thank you Miss Radley.” He said in a small well mannered voice.

The innocence in his voice almost brought Cecile to tears. She tried to remember when she was that young. An old memory of her mother taking to her get ice cream came to mind. It was the middle of the day, she was in her room listening to her walkman. Her mother came into her room and held out her hand the same way Mrs. Cho did to her son.

“We’re going to get ice cream sweetheart.” 

Of course, as child you didn’t question anyone when they offered ice cream. Her mother was quiet when they were in the car, which was hoe Cecile knew something was wrong as her mother never drove with out singing along to the radio. 

Cecile looked over, and though her mother was wearing her giant white rimmed round sunglasses, she could see the tears streaming down her face. Cecile didn’t ask what was wrong. She took her mother’s hand and she squeezed it in return. It’s a mother’s job to shield their child from any unnecessary pain, she thought. That’s what her mother did for her until the day she died. 

She returned the little boys smile, but before they could leave the ladies room, the sound of gun shots banged in the gallery.

“Oh my god!” Cecile screamed, but Mrs. Cho covered her mouth. 

“Be quiet.” She said. Her voice was calm, almost like she had been through this before. “Quickly darling, into the stall.” She hurried the little boy into one of the stalls. More gun shots and yelling echoed in the other room. “You too!” Mrs. Cho shoved Cecile in the stall next to theirs. Mrs. Cho’s son started crying.

“Shh, be quiet honey. Be quiet. Hanson is outside remember?   
He’s here to protect us, right?”

In between sniffles he managed to whisper, “right.”

“Good boy.” Mrs. Cho whispered. “Now be quiet.”

“Everyone stay down!” A rough voice yelled from the other room.

The voice was terrifying. It commanded attention and fear. Cecile covered her ears with her hands but the gunshots still made it through. More gunshots were fired and a woman’s shrill scream came through the walls. It took everything Cecile had not to start panicking.

“Put it down!” A different voice yelled just outside the bathroom door. “Now!” After a long pause the same voice yelled. “Keep an eye on him.”

Just then, as Cecile feared, he kicked the door open. She covered her mouth with her hand and lifted her feet, somehow hoping he would go away. His footsteps seemed to shake the entire room. They were painfully slow and deliberate. She knew he was looking in each stall and would eventually find her.

The closer he got the more Cecile was trying to rack her brain for something to do. She didn’t have to look around the stall to know there weren’t any weapons she could use. One of the men did yell everyone stay down, so maybe they were just trying to steal paintings and not kill people. She wanted to slap herself when she realized she should’ve called the police when she had the chance, but everything happened so fast and it was too late now. 

He opened the stall right next to hers. She looked up and saw that she didn’t lock the door. Like that would’ve helped at all, she thought. She readied herself, accepting the fact that he was going to find her. Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

She saw the door begin to open, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to see what was on the other side. Expecting to be grabbed or yelled at, she was surprised by the silent moments that followed him opening the door. She slowly opened her eyes, and met those of the masked man. Her throat went dry and her body froze. She knew those eyes. The piercing blue, illuminated even more by the blackness of the mask he wore haunted her recent dreams. 

Neither spoke, neither moved. It wasn’t until Tig lowered his gun that she realized he was pointing it at her. Never breaking eye contact, he stepped back and closed the stall door leaving her alone and breathless. 

The bathroom door burst open and gunshots were fired. Mrs. Cho couldn’t stop her son from screaming. She could tell from the heavy breathing, Tig was still alive and who ever entered the bathroom was dead. The stall door next to her slammed open. 

“No!” Mrs. Cho screamed. 

“What the fuck Chibs!” Tig shouted.

“I looked away for one second, and he crawled in here.” A man with a Scottish accent.

“Mommy!” The little boy shrieked. 

“Her kid wasn’t supposed to be here...” The Scottish man said. 

The door burst open again. “She’s here?” The third man rasped.

“Aye, and her fucking kid.” The Scottish man responded. 

After a heavy sigh, the third man decided, “okay, we’ll have to bring him too. You check the other stalls?” 

“Yeah, yeah I did.” Tig said and Cecile could see from under the door he moved in front of her stall.

“Get her, lets go.” 

“You aren’t taking my son anywhere.” Mrs. Cho said calmly. “I assume you know who my husband is. Do you know what will happen to you when he finds out what you’ve done?”

Cecile could hear the third man walk over to her stall. “We want him to find out, darlin’”

“Yes, I’m sure you do. What is this about? Money? You men to scared to work for it you have to take from others?” She spat.

“Isn’t that exactly what your husband is doin’?”

“Shh, don’t worry sweetheart it’s alright.” She whispered to her son. “You think your masks will save you? Just from the bit of your face I can see, it’s windburned. A man as young as you shouldn’t have crows feet. Dirt is covering the front of your shoes like it was blown there. You’re a biker.”

“You’re a smart lady, but if you want him to live,” Cecile heard the sound of a gun. “you’d better shut the fuck up.” The man lunged at her.

“Get off of him!” She yelled. “Don’t fucking touch him!”  
With all the commotion of her and her son struggling, they bumped into Cecile’s stall door causing it to swing open.

The scene in front of her was terrifying. Mrs. Cho was in the arms of one of the men. Her dress was ripped, her hair a mess. Her son was trying to kick one of the other men, but he lifted him in the air. The little boy bite the man holding him. “Mommy!” He yelled.

“I thought you said you checked all the stalls man?” The man holding Mrs. Cho shouted at Tig. “She heard too much. Grab her!” The one with blonde hair sticking out from under his mask yelled.

“No! I didn’t hear anything!” Cecile cried. 

Tig grabbed her arm. She struggled and he tightened his hold. The other two men were occupied with Mrs. Cho and her son, so Tig had time to pull her close.

“No one’s gonna hurt you.” He whispered.

She met his blue eyes, he was so close to her face she could smell the whisky on his breath. A smell that reminded her of her father. Terror filled her veins and the urge to fight took over. She scratched his neck drawing blood and tried to push his chest away from her. He grabbed her arms and squeezed. Though anger raged in his eyes, she could tell he was holding back.

“Let me go!” She cried, but Tig was too strong. He dragged her across the floor. She screamed when she saw the dead bodyguard slumped over. Tig grabbed her tighter, but wasn’t hurting her. 

He dragged her through the gallery. She saw other masked men holding their guns to all the guests on the floor. She noticed three people dead, but she didn’t look. She was too terrified to see if one of them was Marcie or Ida.

Tig took her through the back entrance of the Gallery, but briefly stopped. The other men were still making their way to the van. He was looking at something. Cecile took the opportunity to try and break free but he was too quick.

“No!” She yelled as he carried her to the van in the parking lot. He shoved her inside, but she could feel him holding back. He climbed in next to her shutting the door behind him and tied a blindfold around her head. All was dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think and what you'd like to see. :)


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